Chapter 4

“No, Amelia!” I said, and she looked over at me with a frown on her sweet face. “This car is thirty-six years old. I know she can do it, but I’m not used to her, and besides, she’s a classic. We’ll treat her with respect.”

“So, you can say no to me...” Amelia pouted, then her eyes were sparkling again, and her lips morphed into a slight smile.

“Were you testing me?”

“Nooo ... I just wanted to let you have some fun.”

“Yeah, right. We’ll have some fun, but someone here has to be adult about it.”

Giggle. “And I’m not adult enough?”

“I did not mean it that way, Ammi.”

“I know ... Although I’m supposed to be forty-four, I’m still only eighteen and one month...”

“Let’s skip the subject, Ammi. Where do you want to go?”

“Just take the road to Franschhoek. I haven’t been there for a long while. Let me see how it changed.”

“Franschhoek it is then, milady,” I said and drove out of the garage and down the road to the gate at the estate’s entrance.

I turned left from the estate and drove towards the town of Franschhoek, not far away, just about fifteen to twenty minutes’ drive. The Triumph handled well and responded just as a well maintained thirty-six-year-old car would. The engine purred and every time I accelerated the exhaust replied with a sporty roar.

Amelia’s head was on a swivel, looking at everything that was to be seen. Every now and then, “Oh look!” would come from her, and she would point out something to me. Although the scenery had changed in the last few years, some things were still there, and new ones were added.

We passed stately homesteads in Cape Dutch style that sported small vineyards, the vines standing leafless in neat rows, waiting on spring to show their green budding when they will cover the valley in different shades of green.

The most spectacular time would be in fall, as the vineyards turn the valley into a patchwork of browns, yellows, and autumn-orange colours; a mosaic fitted together like a puzzle, interlaced with the dark waters of the various dams and reservoirs that irrigate the vineyards.

In the mountains surrounding the Franschhoek valley, the ‘Fynbos’ and Proteas had faded. Only the ever-lasting’s (Sewejaartjies) would colour, like now, the slopes of the high peaks in their brown, yellow, red, and white splendour. That’s why they are called; “Ever-lasting’s,” because their flowers never lose their colour, and sit for years on the plant, before eventually dropping off to make room for a new one to bloom.

A few cars passed us from the front. One was a new, bright yellow cabriolet with the top down, and its young girl passengers waved and blew kisses at me, shouting something.

“See! I told you. Nobody can see me, and those youngsters thought you were alone.” Giggle. “I better keep...” Then Amelia became quiet and looked down at her hands in her lap.

“What’s wrong, Ammi?”

“No ... No, nothing...” She said. I know that if women say: “nothing is wrong,” then there’s much wrong, and the paw-paw will soon hit the fan.

“At La Motte, turn right into Huguenot Road. I’m going to show you something you will like,” she said, and the smile was back in her voice.

I did as she directed and carried on, enjoying the fresh air, and the company of the flaxen hair girl with the pale-green eyes. Everything about her seemed so normal, so real, and so lifelike.

“When we get to the three-way stop, take the right-hand fork, Lambrechts Road, and just keep going. Just outside of town you’ll start on the Franschhoek Pass.” And Amelia laughed excited, “You’re going to love it.”

“As long as we can stop for a slice of cake and a coke or a coffee somewhere!” I responded.

Amelia laughed, catching the hair blown into her face with her right hand and pushing it away. She was not being very successful but kept on doing it.

“Yeah, we can stop off at ‘Get Lost Coffee’. It’s on our way at the Franschhoek Square. Remember to get two of each.” Giggle. “Black Forest cake or Carrot Cake, both are my favourite. You get to pick.”

“Okay, carrot cake then. Black Forest cake is a little messy in the car.”

“Ooo! Thanks for looking out for my baby. I also think the cream on the cake won’t go good with the upholstery.”

“The seats are leather, but no, it won’t be good eating creamy cake in the car!” I laughed.

We did our cake stop. The little rascal followed me into the coffee shop and stood to one side. There were few people in the shop, but I don’t think it would be fun to bump into something you could not see.

While we waited for the take-out order, the girl at the cash point, looked a little flustered and keep giving me glances, but otherwise kept at doing her job. Amelia giggled at this behaviour of the girl, realising that the girl had recognised me, but was too shy to ask. Nobody noticed or heard her, and I sighed a sigh of relief. I kept forgetting that no one could see or hear her as I do.

After getting the takeout-order and paying for it, I walked out. I paused while opening the door and made as if I had forgotten something, and then shook my head and proceeded out. Everyone in the coffee shop went about their business, not noticing anything.

“Thank you for holding the door open for me.”

“Yeah, it would have been funny seeing the peoples’ reaction if the door opened by itself when I came to it.”

Giggle.

“Come, Ammi, let’s blow this joint.”

We drove along the R45, or Huguenot Road, and turned right into Lambrechts Road. When we passed L’Ermitage Franschhoek Château, the road started to climb slightly, and I geared down to third gear. Just before Middagkransberg there was a hairpin bend to the left. The Spitfire made short work of it, and we went up the slope of the mountain. At around 700 metres above sea level the road curved to the left and then into a right-hand hairpin bend.

Just as we came out of the hairpin bend, and continuing up the straight, still climbing, Amelia turned to me and instructed:

“Just up ahead is paved parking spot on your right for a viewpoint. Stop there.”

I saw the viewpoint and pulled over, parking on the huge paved space at the lookout point. There was a small white painted stone wall, about knee-high, that overlooked a breathtaking view of the town of Franschhoek, and the picture-perfect valley to the north. Down below us, I could see the winding road we just came up with. Past the town, basking in the midday winter sun, the mountains to the north looked grey-blue.

“Now this is what I call a view,” I said, switching off the car.

“I told you, you would like it!” Amelia said shyly.

“I’ll drive up here often just to see this,” I promised.

“In a month or two; you can watch the seasons change, the valley coming alive with its shades of greens, then the colouring of fall ... to go to what you see now...”. Her words faded off, and she just looked ahead. She had a far-off look in her eyes, as if she went far away. Then she shuddered, shook her head and smiled.

“Let’s have the cake and coffee, before the coffee gets cold,” She said.

“Let’s have it...” I said. “Calories galore, but worth it.”

Giggle. “Lucky I don’t need to worry about calories and dieting!”

“Hmm ... Lucky you,” I chuckled.

While we sat in the car and had our coffee and cake, another car pulled up. There were, I presume, a mom and dad with three children: one boy and two girls. They got out of their car and went over to the low stone wall.

“We can also get out,” Amelia said as she wiped her lips with a paper serviette. “Yummy! That carrot cake was the best I had in years!” And she burst out laughing.

“Yeah, either you got to entice Maggie to bake one, or do it yourself. I can’t see you going in to ’Get Lost Coffee,’ and ordering a slice!”

“No, but that is one reason I got you.” Giggle.

“Oh, to get you cake and coffee...?” I said, and absent-mindedly added: “Is that all I am to you.”

“No, silly, if I’m around I know you would get me some goodies,” she replied, but before I could answer her, I noticed the guy from the other car sauntering over, admiring the Spitfire.

“Nice car!” He said as he approached.

“Yip, I just took her out now for the first time, and I’m still getting the feeling for her,” I said, and got out of the car.

“Oh, you just bought her? She looks good and well maintained.”

“You can say I just bought her...” I said, wishing the guy would go away. Stealing a glance into the Spitfire, I saw Amelia also getting out, a mile-wide smile on her lips and the green eyes flashing laughter.

I noticed the two girls and the mom looking at me, whispering to each other. Then the one girl, about fifteen or so, came over.

“Sorry, but you’re Devon Joss, ain’t you?” She asked.

“Guilty as charged,” I said, and the girl went wild.

“Mom, Mom, it’s him! It’s Devon Joss!” She called, and the rest of the contingent came over.

Amelia was enjoying this and silently went around the Spitfire to the stone wall, got onto the wall and sat swinging her legs, looking amused.

“You live around here, or are you just out on a drive?” The guy asked.

“I’m actually on my way to a gig, and just stopped off here for the view and some coffee.” I fibbed.

“Can I have your autograph, please, please?” The teenage girl pleaded, barely containing herself and on the verge of jumping up and down.

“Ashley, behave yourself!” The mom admonished her.

“No problem, Ashley,” I said. “Do you have a pen and paper with you?” And there was a frantic scramble for a pen and paper. In the background I could hear Amelia’s bright laughter echoing above the sound of the slight breeze. I looked over at her, and she stuck her tongue out at me. Then she pouted her lips, tilted her head to one side and said: “Can I have your autograph too? Please, pretty please... ”

I eventually ended up signing on a slip of paper for Ashley, on a t-shirt for little shy twelve-year-old Karen, and for Mom, Lisa, on another slip of paper. Handshakes for the dad and boy and hugs for the girls followed. Happy campers, they moved off and Amelia re-joined me.

“You should not neglect your fans,” she scolded, and climbed back into the car.

“Nope! That’s the price you pay for rock ‘n roll...”

“Answering me in lyrics,” Amelia sighed.

“I am, after all, a poet!” I preened.

“And I love it, seeing how people recognise you and adore you; your great interaction with them. You made those two little girls’ day. Damn, you made their whole week!”

“The question is: Do I make your day?” I asked.

“The answer is ... Yes!” Amelia sighed, then bowed her head and looked at her hands in her lap.

I reached over with my left hand, placed my fingers under her chin, raised her head, and turned it to me.

“Don’t be sad or anything, Ammi. Just be Ammi, smile and be happy. You’ve got nothing to be sad for.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

“Let’s go back. Maggie will kill us if we’re late for lunch.” Giggle. “At least she’ll kill you. She’s got to find me and catch me first!”

For a moment I just looked at her, then shaking my head, I started the Spitfire, and drove us back to the estate. Amelia kept joking about her being a spirit. At least she doesn’t seem to hold a grudge against us, the living.

On our way back the clouds started to drift in across the mountains. Soon there was a chill in the air. The cold front out of the South Atlantic was moving into the Cape Coast. Even here in the “Boland,” the impact of a major cold front is felt.

“Stop somewhere and put up the canvas top. It’s getting cold,” Amelia said, so I saw a safe place to park, pulled over, and got out. Amelia did too.

“Have you ever done this before, I mean putting the top up or taking it down on a Triumph?”

“Nope! On my yellow canary, I just press a button, and it folds and unfolds itself.”

“Spoiled brat!” she chided, and again stuck her tongue out at me and giggled.

“So show me, oh connoisseur of classic cars.”

“First, take off that plastic cover at the back. Undo all the clips and put it to the side. Then move your seat forward.” she instructed.

I did that and saw that she moved her seat forward as well. As I removed the plastic cover at the back of the car, I saw the canvas roof appear, neatly folded in the back of the car.

“Good. Now unfold the sides,” and I followed as she unfolded the side windows.

“Grab hold of the bottom and pull it up,” she instructed and again I followed her. The canvas roof unfolded and started to look like a roof of a car. “Now, clip the sides into the clips you just removed the plastic cover from.”

Again I followed Amelia’s guidance, and clipped the bottom of the back part into place.

“Now the fun part!” she said and got into the car. “Hold the front part down there on the top of the windscreen and clip it into the latches and lock the latches in place.”

I did as was told. “Phew! If I do this twice a day, I don’t need to go to the gym!”

“You’re not finished, buster! The clips on the centre spar, and the top of the back window must still be fastened, else you will look like a balloon driving down the road,” she laughed.

“Jeez! Okay, Slave-driver!” I said and proceeded to fasten the clips on the main spar in the middle of the cabin roof and above the back window.

Giggle.

“Is it good now?” I asked.

“You have to put the plastic cover back into the car”, and I did.

“Now, home, James, and don’t spare the horses!” Amelia said as she climbed in and wound the window up. “Brr!” She shivered.

I closed the driver’s window, started the Spitfire, and off we went. Silently I was thanking the German engineers at Audi for inventing a smooth electric opening and closing of the Audi R8 canvas roof. Hell, I can even take it down or up without stopping my yellow canary! What is their motto? “Voorsprong door techniek.”

Why could Uncle Alex have not just gotten her a Ferrari GTB, Aston Martin or something like that? If she wanted something classic, Ford Mustang or a Jaguar E Type sprang to mind. And she called ME a spoiled brat?

Arriving back at the estate, I “put up” the Spitfire back in her old spot with the top down and the cover in place. Amelia helped in getting the cover back on.

Just as we finished, Sam walked into the garage.

“No need to play around with Amelia’s car, Sir. There’s something better under the cover on the other side next to the Bentley,” and Sam had a mile wide grin on his face. “Come, let me show you.”

Amelia stood silent; her hands folded in front of her with a twinkle in her eyes.

“That old Triumph ain’t a man’s car. This over here is more likely in your league,” Sam chuckled, and winked at me, and I wonder what was in Amelia’s mind. Sam doesn’t know about Amelia being around, else he would have chosen his words more carefully.

He stopped beside a long flat shape under a cloth cover. From the look of the spiked chrome wheels and broad low-profile tyres just visible from under the cloth cover, I got the impression that this would be another sports car. Looks like good old Uncle Alex had a passion for cars. There was, not counting my SUV, about five other cars in the huge garage.